


World Spins Madly On

by Haepherion



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Not A Happy Ending, Terminal Illnesses, please read the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haepherion/pseuds/Haepherion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t leave me.” Steve’s words are quiet, whispered into the soft skin behind Bucky’s ear. Steve lays his palm flat on Bucky’s concave chest right over his heart and presses his fingertips against the spot, like maybe he can literally hold his heart in place and will it to keep beating.</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://stevebucky-fest.dreamwidth.org/307.html?thread=427315#cmt427315">this prompt</a> at SteveBucky fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Spins Madly On

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings before you read this piece. 
> 
> The prompt was “terminal illness.”

 

_Woke up, wished that I was dead,_

_with an aching in my head,_

_I lay motionless in bed._

_I thought of you,_

_and where you’d gone,_

_and the world spins madly on._

            “ _Don’t leave me.” Steve’s words are quiet, whispered into the soft skin behind Bucky’s ear. Steve lays his palm flat on Bucky’s concave chest right over his heart and presses his fingertips against the spot, like maybe he can literally hold his heart in place and will it to keep beating._

_“Please,” Steve whispers brokenly into the dark fuzz of hair that is starting to grow back on top of Bucky’s head. Bucky’s fast asleep, shallow breaths barely making his chest rise and fall, and the sleeping medication and pain relievers they have him on makes sure that he stays asleep the entire night. Even still, Bucky unconsciously snuggles back into Steve’s arms as if he agrees with Steve. A silent promise to him that he’ll stay, and Steve tries not to think about how soon that promise will be broken._

_“I love you.” Steve’s voice cracks against the quiet of the room, echoes back at him, and the silent spaces in between are a reminder of what awaits. Steve’s glad there isn’t a clock in the room. He doesn’t think he could deal with the ominous ticking of an unseen enemy._

_Bucky sighs in his sleep, and Steve imagines that he hears him whisper “Steve” between his dry and cracked lips. The word drapes over him like a blanket, a temporary salve over the pain that Steve can physically feel ripping him apart, and-_

Steve comes into consciousness slowly, his mind trying to drag him back into the dream. He closes his eyes and slows his breathing, praying to fall back asleep, to fall into the same dream of holding Bucky in his arms, of being able to reassure himself that Bucky’s still alive and breathing.

 

            There is nothing but darkness, and Steve’s traitorous body refuses to let him fall back into unconsciousness, demanding that he stay awake. Steve fights it, keeps his eyes closed and lets himself imagine, but there is nothing. The air in the room is thick, cloying, and when he tries to take a deep breath his body shudders; it feels like an effort to push air into his lungs, over and over and over again, in-out, in-out, in-out.

 

            There are a thousand aches, a bone-deep fatigue that’s settled into his very being. It’s not a matter of _if_ Steve will succumb to it, but when. Steve reaches for the small bottle of pills sitting on top of his bedside table, shakes one into his mouth and swallows it dry, not even wincing at the foul taste.

 

            The effect is immediate-- Steve feels numbness spread throughout his body. _It’s better this way_. The next breath he takes doesn’t feel like such a struggle, than a simple motion that his body has to go through to keep surviving, to keep living, and Steve thinks the idea of living is an unforeseen twist in his life that doesn’t really matter anymore.

 

            He doesn’t go back to bed; he doesn’t want to taint it, because his dreams are the only way he can live again.

 

            Steve stands in the middle of the dark room and listens to himself breathe—he muses that he would trade half of the rest of his life if Bucky were still here to do the same.

 

            There’s a sharp, cheery ringtone followed by buzzing and Steve flinches, making his way around the room slowly to find his cell phone. The name “Natasha” registers briefly in his mind when he reads the caller ID—he thinks about not picking up, but knows that she’ll just call again if he doesn’t, and eventually come to his apartment. He doesn’t think he’s ready to see anyone yet.

 

            He flips the phone open against his ear, but doesn’t say anything.

 

            She doesn’t say anything either and he’s grateful for it.

 

            “I’m alive,” Steve says bitterly into the phone and his voice comes out like sandpaper, rubbed rough and raw. Steve half-wonders if Natasha can hear the hatred he has of those words in his tone.

“Okay,” she says simply and is quiet again, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t after a few minutes, she hangs up the phone and Steve is alone again. He fumbles with turning the cell phone off before flinging it into a corner of the room.

 

            In the bathroom, he tries not to stare into the mirror but accidentally does anyway and wishes he hadn’t. His eyes are bloodshot, streaked with popped veins. If only his body were as lifeless as his eyes looked. The patchy stubble on his jaw has turned into an unkept beard, hiding how gaunt his face had become.

 

            “ _You better take care of yourself, Steve,” Bucky threatens, but the weak shake in his voice isn’t convincing to anyone. There’s an unspoken “when I’m gone” after his words, and Steve swallows hard._

_“’Course I will, I’ve been doing fine so far, haven’t I”_

_Bucky squints at him and looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t have the energy to. “Promise me,” Bucky settles for, and Steve wants to be sick at how Bucky wheezes, exhausted after saying so few words._

_“I promise.”_

            Steve haphazardly grabs at the razor on the sink, nearly slicing his finger open on the blade when he messily lathers his cheeks and shaves off the worst of the beard, not even caring when he nicks his cheekbones.

He washes off the pink, blood-tinged shaving cream and doesn’t look back into the mirror when he’s done, tossing the razor into the trash.

 

            The kitchen is immaculate; Steve doesn’t cook anymore. It doesn’t make sense to cook when he, nor anybody else, is going to eat any of the food.

 

            _“Oh Gooood,” Bucky groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve quickly takes the spoon back, reaching for a napkin to wipe up the little bit of soup that leaks out of the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Sorry…is it not good?” Steve asks, sheepishly putting the bowl of soup on the bedside table and picking up a glass of water to hold up to Bucky’s lips. Bucky shakes his head, jerking his head towards the soup that Steve just set down._

_“Hey, get that soup back over here, I wasn’t done with it yet.”_

_Steve picks it back up, feeling relieved that it wasn’t too salty, or too watery, or too…whatever else could go wrong with chicken soup._

_“Haven’t had chicken soup this good since I was a kid,” Bucky jokes breathily, opening his mouth and Steve carefully spoons him another mouthful, happy that Bucky’s not feeling so sick today._

_“It’s not too difficult to make, really, just takes a little while.”_

_“Hey, pal, if this is what comes from waiting a little while, I’ll wait forever.”_

            Steve leaves the kitchen and goes to the tiny living room and settles into the couch. There’s nothing on TV, which is more perfect than anything he could have asked for at the moment. Anything for just a few seconds of peace of mind.

 

            _“I can’t decide if your vintage TV is cool or really lame.” Bucky rearranges the cushions on the couch before settling back against them, shifting a little; Steve makes a mental note to get him the tempurpedic cushions that the doctor had mentioned would be better for his back and the healing surgery wounds._

_“I don't really see the point of high-definition things. It leaves less to the imagination—good movies don’t need to be shown in perfect, blinding clarity,” Steve quips back as he turns on the stove, digging around his fridge for carrots to make some soup._

_“Well, not all of us has 20/20 vision,” Bucky laughs. Steve stops grinning when he hears Bucky’s laugh sputter into wheezing coughs. Bucky is leaned forwards on the couch, one hand pulling at his chest, the other thrown out in front of him for balance._

_“Bucky, breathe,” Steve says in the calmest tone he can, rushing over to help maneuver him into a position where he can get more air into his right lung. “Deep breath.”_

_It takes more than a few minutes before Bucky can get a full breath in again—Steve doesn’t think it matters. As long as Bucky is still breathing, it’s fine. Everything is fine._

Steve leaps up from the couch like it’s on fire, swiping angrily at his tears clouding his vision. Bucky is everywhere in the house, pouring out of the cracks of the cushions, the seams of Steve’s favorite sweaters, the chipped gray mug sitting on a coaster on the dining room table. Everywhere he has ever touched is alive with him, and Steve doesn’t know if he wants to escape from it or not.

 

            Steve wants to feel him.

 

            He sits on the floor and watches the TV with unseeing eyes—hours and hours of mindless entertainment, until the sky outside his windows is dark again.

 

            Only then does Steve let himself go back into the bedroom.

 

            He slides under the cool sheets, pressing his face against the pillows.

 

            _“I… want our honeymoon… to be…in the south of France,” Bucky whispers the words between gasps of air into Steve’s ear as Steve touches him lovingly, drawing out Bucky’s moans and pants of pleasure. The words light a fire in the pit of Steve’s stomach, makes him concentrate all the more on making Bucky feel good, hands working up and down the length of Bucky’s cock at a slow and even pace, all the while listening to his stuttered breathing to make sure it’s not too much to handle._

_“Live in… one of those fancy… beach-side houses…” Bucky rasps against Steve’s lips, and the breath is rattling out of his lung with a terrible sound. “God...Steve…Steve…” Bucky gasps as he comes, back arching off the bed, and Steve strokes him through it. Steve holds Bucky carefully in his arms until his breathing returns to something as close to normal as he’s going to get; Steve never lets himself fall asleep before making sure of that._

_“’…you’re gonna…have to tell me…’bout how the… south of France looks…in the summer,” Bucky says in between labored breaths, already half-asleep._

_“’Won’t have to, you’re going to be there with me for our honeymoon,” Steve mumbles back, pulling Bucky against him until they’re facing each other, arms and legs wound tightly together._

_Bucky is silent for a little while, the only audible sound in the room his breathing._

_“Yeah. I will,” Bucky murmurs back and presses his lips against Steve’s. When they pull apart, Steve stays wrapped around him, nose pressing against the side of Bucky’s sallow cheek._

_“’Love you, Buck.”_

            Steve crawls under the covers, burying his nose into the pillows that lie on what used to be Bucky’s side of the bed.

 

            Steve falls asleep, and dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> This piece works as a standalone to fill the original prompt, but was originally supposed to be the epilogue of the extended story that I am working on. However after rethinking what I wanted the mood of the whole story to feel like, I decided that I wanted people to read this one before they read the rest of the story. More will be coming later (although there are no guarantees of exactly how much later, seeing as how it’s taking an actual eon for me to write it). I’m hoping that putting up this first part will make me write the second part faster.
> 
> Steve is an ER nurse who falls in love with Bucky, the snarky patient that is hospitalized one night with breathing problems. Bucky asks Steve out, and they start dating.  
> Weeks later, Bucky is diagnosed with terminal Stage IV lung cancer. 
> 
> Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine (and please point out mistakes you find…) Concrit is, as always, very welcome.
> 
> Title of the work taken from "World Spins Madly On" by The Weepies, chapter title from "Asleep" by The Smiths.


End file.
